Saturday, May 18, 2019

On inspiration

It's truly said the Muses will not speak 
To those who will not listen — that's to say
The ones who cannot trouble to attend, 
Who're mindful only of the mindless World.

It used to be a trope, back years ago,
Romantic poets sighing would bemoan
The loss of their inspired poetic gifts
That left them mumbling prose like mortal men.

So maybe this is just what poets do,
To grouse when they have nothing else to say,
To strut and preen and pose like mannequins 
And puff their nothings full of empty wind.

If that's, then, all it takes, why every dog 
Can call himself a poet — even I!


Sent from my iPhone

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